Capture the Flag
by xxpoisonivyxx
Summary: Ichigo really doesn't know why he's doing this. After all, sword wounds could really hurt a guy. (IchigoRukia) (Soul Society Arc)


**disclaimer **I don't own Bleach

**pairings **IchigoRukia, if that's how you want to look at it. I wrote it that way, so…

**timeline **After they arrive in Soul Society. Not long after though.

**notes **Yeah. My first attempt at first-person. This is why I don't write it often. My first attempt at an Ichigo introspective.

_Really_ shouldn't mix the two, eh?

But yeah, today I was just like, hey, I want to write in an Ichigo kind of way. Behold my masterpiece (i.e. crap) And I _really_ think I bastardized him. Really. I'm _so sorry_ Ichigo!

**warnings **Swearing, 'cause Ichigo's just like that. Run-on sentences, because we're (I'm) just like that. References to manga. Slight Ishida-bashing, but please don't take offence since I really like the guy. Its just Ichigo that doesn't. And horrible-ness in general. Proof of why I should never try two new things at once.

Oh. And a recurring double-entendre.

**Capture the Flag**

I don't even know why I'm doing this.

I mean, fuck, running around and getting hit by a bunch of gi-wearing old-timers (and the occasional few that look younger than _Yuzu_ for chrissakes, speaking of things that freak me out) chasing you with sword-things bigger than _you_, **_isn't fun_**.

Neither is getting one of those hugeass swords stuck in your side for a bit, or if not a sword wound, some other type of voodoo "spirit magic" (or whatever—not like I was _listening_ to her babble that night, since _my arms were stuck!_) wound, which, through bitter, bitter—and by bitter, I mean even more so than Mizuru dragging me and Keigo and Chad (_Chad _of all people!) along on a date to meet his girlfriend because she had three _younger_ sisters she wanted to introduce us to, and having to endure Keigo's heart eyes _without_ punching the poor guy out—experience I know actually seems to _burn_ the flesh.

Trust me. It hurts like a bitch.

And don't give me an expression with you rolling your eyes like _yeah, we know. We **have** read the manga_, because you _don't_ know.

Let's see _you_ get a _barbed_ (And how the fuck did it change like that anyways? I mean, one second, it was just like, _oh, okay, now I'm up against a pansy who names his sword, coughcough—and asked me what **mine** was named, like, dude, I don't swing that way, sorry, better ask Ishida, _and the next it was like, _Bam! What the fuck? _You know?) sword stuck in _your_ shoulder, and shinigami or no, it fucking _hurt_, and it wasn't like Rukia was around to fix _that_ one—wasn't like she was around _at all_.

And that was a perfectly good excuse for me to sit back and say, _you know what, sandal-hat? You know what, pansy archer, Inoue, and Chad and whoever else wants to look at me like I've killed the family dog? I'm not gonna do this anymore. My swords busted _(and if Keigo were here, he'd have a _field day_ with that one, which makes me wince just thinking about it, and his jokes wouldn't even need to be that clever, since I basically handed it to him on a plate—and is it too late to take that back?) _my shoulder's shot to hell, I can't even sit up, so let's just call it a day, okay?_

And who would blame me, right? I'm fifteen, for all of my Mr. Tough-Guy Act (which, if anyone asks, is _not_ an act) and _alive_ (for all of that Tatsuki insisting I'm more rock than flesh) and being a shinigami-slayer person was _never_ my forte. Like I ever _asked_ for these spirit things to show up. Like I ever _asked_ for my mom—but I'm getting sidetracked. And she _was_ right that day. For once. About mom.

And after I found out that being shinigami meant you had to belong to some secret club-type thing (called Soul Society, I mean, when I first heard _that_, it should have tipped me off) where you had to _name_ your sword, be faster than heck, and get weird eyebrow tattoos, (and I bet there's a secret handshake I don't know about as well. I mean, _lookit_ them. Sure, they're stronger than me, but they also look the type, to you know, talk more to their _sword_ than to other shinigami-_people._ And were those _Sakura_ blossoms floating around that one dude?) I shoulda been outta it even more.

Dressing like that was never my thing.

But basically, _after_ I faint, drowning in a pool of my own blood, I _wake up_—aching like hell—and my first thought is: _Why didn't Rukia do her healing-thing?_

And _who_ do I see but sandal-hat, sitting by my bed like some kinda _nurse_, grinning all creepy.

And my side aches, and my body hurts, and I just wanna give up, but then _Rukia's_ gone, and that idiot—I'm pretty sure he had a name…Ren-something…or was it Ken?—saying that they were gonna _kill_ her for _saving_ me, and that she ran because she didn't want to _hurt_ me and—

Dammit Rukia. Isn't the guy supposed to protect the girl? What am I, _Ishida?_

And I still don't know why I'm doing this, running around with a bunch of weirdos from my class (Not Chad, Chad's okay, pretty decent to have by my back in a fight, and Inoue's okay too, come to think of it. Okay by "weirdo's", I just meant the archer. And not even Tatsuki's here, and she's the one always bragging about how good she was in karate) in a place that freaks you out by just being there, since you know that everyone you meet has already _died_.

I still don't know why, only when I woke up that day (what? Only a few weeks ago?) and Mr. Sandal-hat was grinning his creepy grin, and I remembered that Rukia was _gone_—and I was ready to _punch_ that weirdo now, punch him, or make him promise to _never_ be by my bedside when I woke again—does he _want_ me to die young?—something in me hurt. It hurt even more than that stupid wound. It hurt in my heart, and I know _for sure_ that I wasn't hit in the heart, or I would be _dead_.

And the creepy old guy said to me, "Rukia's gone." And he looked like he couldn't care less, and suddenly I was past the negotiation phase with him, and I woulda beat him up, too, if it weren't for the fact that, _hey, I can't move right now._ And the fact that even though his eyes were shadowed—like my grandma always said that if you make a face too long, it'll stick that way, so maybe if you wear a hat too long…—I could see the faintest glimmer of worry.

His grin widened, and he said, "You're going to rescue her." And in his smile it promised me multitudes of pain and agony and perhaps even _death_, depending on how I answered.

And then, somehow, I knew. I knew that I would get her back. Even if I had to take on those crazy dead guys again. Even if I had to _name my sword_. Even if—

Even if I had to die.

Which doesn't really explain _why_ I'm rescuing a girl that complained about _everything_ from food (_but why is it **cold**, you bastard?) _to clothing _(but **what good** does a "uniform" do?). _A girl that I didn't even realize I missed until I woke up cut and bleeding and my first thoughts were about _her_, and how much she would enjoy this if she were here, me all tied up enough for her to give me a _proper_ lecture on duty and other such crap.

But it _could_ explain why I said to sandal-hat without hesitation, "I'm going to rescue her."

**end**

Not that I'm going because I want to see her face again, to see her smile again.


End file.
